


I Would Trade All My Gold For Dirt

by some_good_clean_fun



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24700492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_good_clean_fun/pseuds/some_good_clean_fun
Summary: Danny thinks,This is friendship but it’s also something else, right?But he doesn’t say those words to Drew, does not attempt to clarify, because what if he’s wrong? Danny’s scared.(You can't just announce how you feel, that makes me feel angry!)
Relationships: Danny Gonzalez/Drew Gooden
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	I Would Trade All My Gold For Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> I initially wrote this to incorporate it into a fic where Danny and Drew are roasting it, but I can't make the roasting fic work the way I want. So I decided to post this in all its sappy glory. If you feel like rotting your teeth on some sweet, sweet fluff, this is the fic for you.

Drew has the kinds of eyes you could get lost in, Danny thinks, his heart thumping treacherously quickly. Like ocean currents beneath the surface of a calm seascape, ready to pull you under. He looks away from Drew’s intent gaze, focusing on Peanut, who is sitting on the floor three feet away being her adorably sleepy self. 

“I’ve been rewatching old B-ball games pretending I don’t know the outcome,” Drew says. “What weird mockable habits have you gotten into?”

 _Daydreaming about us together,_ Danny doesn’t say. _And the tone of your voice when you’d say my name the first time after we kissed._

“I’ve been coding a mobile foosball game that makes you feel like you have a real miniature soccer table right in your pocket. It’s inspired by Paul Zimmer. Or I guess, Troy Becker.”

“I hate to break it to you, but that already exists.”

“Well, fuck.”

“What have you really been up to?”

“Same as usual, to be honest. Fucking around writing music, filming, working out. I started a miniature garden on my window sill and it’s actually beginning to grow, which is honestly thrilling.”

“Yeah, I feel bad for all the other poor schmucks who have lives they’re eagerly waiting to get back to, because working from home? I have that on lockdown. Staying home and cooking my own meals? Not even a tiny problem. Avoiding large crowds? I’ve been doing that since I first learned how to walk, guy.”

“Yeah, but it has made me realize how highly I value my ability to travel and do other things once in a while. As a little treat.”

Three hour skype calls aren’t a new development, more a return to early 2019, but the lack of direction in their chat is new. Danny’s painfully aware he’s the kind of conversationalist who needs a subject to discuss. It isn’t that he doesn’t have a lot of opinions – he does. Or that he’s scared he’ll say something Drew will react badly to – they usually agree on most things, and the things they don’t create spirited debate rather than discord. But. He’s always worried he’s boring Drew, even when Drew looks interested in what he’s saying. He’s a little obsessive about watching micro-expressions and judging minute reactions.

He never used to be this hypervigilant or obsessive, but he’s come to realize that he’s very protective of Drew’s reactions. He needs them to be positive. He needs to think that Drew has come away from any of their interactions waiting for the next one.

It might be a problem.

Sometimes, Danny forgets to be so guarded and he simply enjoys Drew’s company. He’ll feel like he’s been floating on cotton candy for the next few days. He’ll replay a fun anecdote or funny exchange, one of Drew’s laughs or a time when Drew gazed at him fondly. 

He misses eye contact. And casual touching. And hearing Drew’s voice without any kind of distortion or technical glitch. 

“I thought we could play a game,” Drew says. 

“Why do I feel like I’ve already lost?”

Drew ignores Danny’s interruption. “The goal is to make the other laugh first by adding the phrase ‘in my pants’ to movie titles.”

“Oh, I know this one. Tim and I used to one-up each other all the time. Okay. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in my pants.”

“Nice. The Irishman in my pants,” Drew says, very obviously keeping as straight a face as humanly possible. Well, two can play at that game. And are. 

“The Usual Suspects in my pants.”

“Antz in my pants.”

“Parasite in my pants.”

“Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle in my pants.”

“Gooby in my pants.”

Drew cracks a smile that escalates to a chuckle. He rocks away from the screen and then forward again. “You fuckin’ dick.”

“Hey, I always play to win.”

Drew gazes at him, his smile having turned fond. “Yeah, you do, don’t you?” He looks at the watch on his wrist, frowns. “I gotta go. I’m supposed to be running the Gooden Family Quiz night. I have no idea how I was picked for such an illustrious role. Maybe my obvious superiority complex. Or my competitive spirit. Or I was the only one too slow on saying ‘not I’.”

“We’re still on for Wednesday?”

“Of course.”

Danny takes a deep breath, musters up all his courage. “Drew, before you go – when this is all over, if this is ever over – will you come and stay awhile?”

Drew’s eyes go soft. “I’d like that, Danny.”  


*

Danny has dreams about Drew wrapping his arms around him and holding loosely around his waist, about going up on tiptoe to kiss his forehead, about them swaying from side to side in a gentle lull getting to just be. He dreams about warm puffs of Drew’s breath against his cheek as they cuddle on the couch together, and the touch of Drew’s hand on the inside of his elbow, the nearness of him making Danny feel safe and secure. He dreams about making Drew laugh and seeing the brightness of his smile transform his whole face and he knows it’s something he wants to strive toward.

*

They workshop content together, deliberately co-ordinating jokes and references as little Easter eggs for their fans. Danny kind of feels bad for people who consider themselves Greg but not a Little Stinker or vice versa, but not, because they’re clearly missing out on some fabulous humor. There’s the ‘I wish I were a mermaid’ reference, the ‘what if I had a beard, no not that kind’ reference, the moment when Drew recites one of Danny’s songs, line by line throughout a twenty minute video, and Danny recreates Drew’s most famous Vine on a nearby road on one of his social distancing walks. Seeing the comments come rolling in is a healthy addition to his ego. People like them, they really like them. 

The thing is, they fit together, not like puzzle pieces so much as a matching set. Drew is the left sock to Danny’s right sock, and yeah okay, socks are made so they can be worn on either foot, but that’s the joke.

Even though they’re far apart, Danny feels like this forced separation is helping them grow closer. They start to video chat multiple times a week, and every time, they devolve into giggles, or Drew will give him a look of complete adoration, or Danny will slip and say something that’s so affectionate he’s sure Drew will realize he’s infatuated to the point of distraction. Danny takes to texting Drew first thing in the morning and Drew always texts him goodnight. 

And Danny thinks, _This is friendship but it’s also something else, right?_ But he doesn’t say those words to Drew, does not attempt to clarify, because what if he’s wrong? Danny’s scared. He doesn’t want to lose Drew’s friendship over a simple misunderstanding. He doesn’t want to blow this out of proportion. Plus, what could they do when they’re miles apart anyway? Make kissy faces at the camera? For now, Danny can revel in Drew’s company without opening up a can of worms. He can imagine a future of them together without telling Drew anything about it. He can stop himself from saying the words, ‘I love you’, even when he doesn’t stop himself from showing it whenever they talk. 

*

The restrictions abate. Life starts to go back to normal. Danny spends a lot of his free time and money at a local coffee shop. He’d bought a giftcard while they’d been closed, but he isn’t spending that yet. That seems unfair. It becomes a daily routine to stroll down the street, around the corner, down the road, and go have brunch. He tries one of everything he can that’s on the menu and then decides on half a dozen favorites that he’ll let his Insta followers decide. 

It’s on one such excursion that Drew calls. Danny stares quizzically at his phone. _Who calls?_

“Hello, you have reached Danny Gonzalez, how may I help you?”

“I know you know who this is, nerd.”

“ _Who_ dis?”

“The guy standing nine feet away wearing a mint green Greg hoodie and aviators.”

Danny spins on the spot, sees Drew lurking outside the coffeeshop, peering in at the window, very deliberately like a creepo stalker. What a menace. He can feel his grin take over his entire face. He runs, skips and hops outside, crashing into Drew with a bone-crushing hug.

It hits different than it would have before. It feels _more_. It’s comforting, warm and secure in a way Danny hasn’t felt in way too long. He breathes in Drew’s scent, concentrates on the rise and fall of his chest, feels their body heat converging to bring a tingle up his spine.

“Hey,” Danny says, only moving a foot away. 

“Hi,” Drew returns, holding onto Danny’s arm and not seeming to mind that Danny’s so close.

“You came,” Danny says, redundant, but finding it hard to think straight because Drew had made the effort to fly, as soon as flights were once again made available for non-essential personnel. Drew had traveled all this way. For him.

“You invited,” Drew says lightly, but there’s an edge of nervousness to the words.

Danny takes Drew’s hand and pulls him into the coffee shop, back to his waiting latte and bomboloni. Drew smiles awkwardly, looking out of sorts. But he obediently sits down and lets Danny order a drink and pastry for him. He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and it makes his hair even more of a mess. Danny doesn’t think it’s possible to love him any more.

“Where’re your things?”

“I left them at Laura and Amanda’s. I went to your place first, but obviously you weren’t there. Luckily, Amanda was in their garden, so she rescued me and told me where you were likely to be.”

“I am, like, so happy to see you, dude, you have no idea.”

“I have some idea.”

Danny’s whole body feels like it’s vibrating and it takes a lot of self-will not to jog his foot up and down at lightning speed. He’s about twenty-two seconds away from standing up and walking out of the coffee shop in lieu of telling Drew he thinks he’s the love of his life.

“How was the flight?”

“It was terrible. How’s the week been?”

“Actually pretty good. I wrote a new song. I almost finished editing a video. And I beat Tim in our weekly general knowledge quiz.”

“Even though you don’t know who Lord Byron is and you can’t recognize every day household plants?”

“Harsh. Especially because of those things. I was laying a trap.” Danny rubs his hands, affects a villainous expression. 

Drew sips his coffee, smirking at Danny over the rim of his cup. Danny is startlingly aware that their knees are near to knocking, that Drew’s so close he could trace the veins that run from his hand to his wrist. He takes a couple of deep breaths, tears into his bomboloni for something to do. He could gaze at Drew all day, but it’d be disconcerting to both Drew and passers-by, and anyway, he _is_ hungry. 

“How long are you staying?” Danny asks, after a moment of silence between them. Drew’s been eating too, slouched in his chair like a mismatched classical art piece in a modern gallery. 

“As long as you’ll have me.”

 _Forever_ , Danny doesn’t say. 

“It could be several weeks, months? I honestly wouldn’t mind,” Danny says, not as truthful as he’d like to be, but almost. “I’ve missed your stupid face.”

“You’ve seen my stupid face at least bi-weekly.”

“Yeah, but it was blurry, and I couldn’t do this,” Danny says, reaching over and booping Drew on the nose.

Drew snatches at his finger with his teeth, playful. Luckily, he doesn’t connect. Danny doesn’t know what he’d do with that kind of touch, especially in a public space. Probably melt into a puddle of slime and ooze out under the door. Danny mock-yells, causing a nearby patron to glare at them. Danny attempts to smile charmingly at them, but judging by the response, he does not succeed.

“So how excited are you about the NBA coming back?”

“Beyond excited,” Drew says, flailing dramatically. “I never knew I was as obsessed with basketball as I apparently am until they announced they’re going ahead with a winter run.”

They chat for around an hour, settling into their usual dynamic, but with an undercurrent of tension that is all joyous anticipation on Danny’s side. And he thinks Drew’s, judging by the way he’ll sometimes look up to see Drew coyly averting his eyes. 

“Ready to head home?” Danny asks.

“I was thinking of making this fine establishment my home, but I’ll join you for a minute.”

Back at Danny’s, they reach an impasse. All Danny really wants to do is kiss Drew, to confirm what he thinks is happening. But Drew seems intent on keeping his distance and steering the conversation. He sits on the armchair rather than the sofa, talks about socialblade to the point of tedium. 

Did he read this wrong? Was Drew simply bored of Florida and took the excuse – any excuse – to escape? Has Danny made up all of Drew’s reactions into something he wants them to be rather than the truth?

Danny genuinely thinks he might be going slightly mad. 

It’s a very real possibility that Drew only sees Danny as a friend, and that’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with that, having Drew’s friendship is incredible. But Danny thinks, no, he feels, they could extend that. They get each other; their fears, their weaknesses, their strengths, and they build on that. They make each other better. When Drew gets cynical, Danny helps him see the bright side, but he doesn’t invalidate his feelings, he doesn’t ignore that aspect of Drew’s personality, because Drew’s cynicism comes from his real life experiences and Danny understands. When Danny’s worried he’s not pushing himself enough, not using his talents to his full potential, Drew makes suggestions, but he also doesn’t let Danny beat himself up, he tells Danny all the ways he’s impressed by him and gives him a much-needed ego-boost. 

“I have a question to ask you,” Danny says after they’ve talked for hours, Drew’s gone, retrieved his duffle bag and come back, and Danny’s gotten to the point people refer to as their wit’s end. _It’s ‘what the fuck?’_

Drew straightens in the chair, looks apprehensive. 

“How have you really been?” Danny asks, trying to sound as gentle as he can.

He can practically hear the cogs turning in Drew’s mind. 

“How do you mean?”

“You didn’t even tell me you were coming. I don’t know, I just feel like there’s something I’m missing.”

Danny’s seen Drew terrified on a few occasions; all of them on tour. It is very easy to decipher that same fear in his expression at Danny’s questioning. 

“You ever find out something you thought was true about yourself was not true at all? Like, all your life, you’ve thought you’ve hated pistachios. Every time you went near a pistachio you shook your head and said nope, not for me, I don’t want that dusty green nut near _my_ face. But then, one day, you were snacking on a dried fruit and nut mix and there was one particular taste you just couldn’t get enough of, and you asked someone nearby and they were like, oh yeah dude, pistachios are amazing, so delicate, so delicious, and you realized you’d been denying yourself something you had the potential to love for years?”

Danny blinks. “I’ve always liked pistachios.”

Drew rubs his hands down his face. “Wow. That just went sailing right over your head.”

Danny shuffles closer to Drew, lays a hand on his knee. “No, it didn’t. If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, I’m trying to tell you that this feeling? It isn’t new for me. I’m not surprised.” Danny takes a deep breath, holds Drew’s gaze. “I always knew I had the potential to love you.”

“And do you?” Drew asks, before backtracking. “I mean, not love, obviously not love, we’re not at _that_ stage, I meant ---”

Danny cuts him off. “I love you so much I’ve forgotten what it was like not to love you. I’ve forgotten who I used to be. And even if I remember, I don’t want to go back to that, ever.”

Drew’s eyes go wide. “Oh.”

Danny is so elated he thinks he’s going to physically blow up like a helium balloon and go flying into the air. He hasn’t been making this up, he wasn’t reading into things, he wasn’t projecting. This is real. Drew has feelings for him. Drew was worried Danny didn’t feel the same way. Everything is right with the world.

“Come closer and get some of this dusty green nut taste all up in you.”

Drew laughs. “Oh my god, why?”

Danny shrugs a shoulder. “I couldn’t resist.”

They ease closer and kiss, soft and sweet. Drew doesn’t kiss like he never has before, but he does bring his hand up and brush his thumb against Danny’s jawline, moving it over the beginnings of stubble that has grown throughout the day. Danny deepens the kiss slowly, in no rush. He places his hand at the back of Drew’s head, angles so they can press tighter. This is something he’s been thinking about, dreaming about, for a long time. He wants to learn all the ways to make Drew melt against him. He wants to make Drew sigh and reach for more. 

When they pull apart, Drew is pink-lipped and bright-eyed. Danny can’t help but push in and press another chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“So delicate, so delicious,” Drew murmurs, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Mmm, nutty goodness,” Danny intones.

Drew has the kinds of eyes you could get lost in, Danny thinks, his heart thumping treacherously quickly. Like ocean currents beneath the surface of a calm seascape, ready to pull you under. And he doesn’t have to look away, if he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t have to keep all his thoughts to himself. He can be with Drew and share all these secret parts of himself, for as long as they like.

**Author's Note:**

> One of the self-roasts was: "This is like the most chaste fan fiction ever written."/“You want to read about me railing you from behind? ‘Cause I’m sure that can be arranged.”/“No. I’m just saying. Whoever wrote this has a very naïve way of looking at two men in their twenties.”


End file.
